Collection of One Shot Stories
by RaichuTec
Summary: This is just a collection of short stories I've written for FFX. Better to do it this way than put up each of them individually. *SPOILER ALERT* Best not to read it if you haven't played the game yet. New Story Added.
1. Last Dance

**Last Dance**  


Over the Calm Lands came the sunrise. Still life, at first, for the clouds had gathered to block out the light of the stars during the night. Black and white, like a photograph snapped, a memory tucked away. Then slowly color came into view, gold along the horizon, mauve against the clouds. Within minutes the sun lit the skies afire, melting the horizon to bleed into the waves of green-gold prairie, stirred by the restless susurration of dew weighed grass. 

Auron watched it all from his perch against a boulder, red robe left dangling on his left side to free the arm there, both hands clasping his legs to his chest. How the world birthed itself each morning, anew, paralleled their own lives in Spira. Each time night fell, Sin road the world and drove the dark shard of fear into the hearts of the people. And then came the Summoner to lead those same people into the daylight, bringing the color back to their bleak lives, renewing their hope. The night must die to give birth to the day. The day must perish to the night in order to be reborn. 

But, what if the Summoner did not bring the sun? What then for the people of Spira? 

The sound of Braska's voice brought Auron out of his revelries. He turned his gaze quickly, a protective reflex that had become second nature since undertaking his role as Guardian. The Summoner lay on his back near the dwindling firelight, the golden light of dawn reflected off his face, gave color to what Auron already knew was deathly pale. Since they went to the ruins of Zanarkand he'd been that way. Since Jecht became the fayth. 

Auron hadn't been there for that. He wanted to stop them, tried to reason with them, but Jecht stood resolute. Braska remained single minded in his quest-- their quest. Two men left that day, to speak with Yunalesca, and only one returned. 

Auron had his promises to keep, then. To Jecht and Braska both, to see this to the end. It was too late to go back, now that Jecht had literally been transformed and the final Aeon only awaited that moment when it would be summoned. Their journey back through Zanarkand and then down Gagazet had been cumbersome and slow going. Braska's frame had grown suddenly frail and he winced occasionally, pained in some manner that Auron couldn't fathom. Asking him about it only earned him a shake of the Summoner's head. He wouldn't speak of it, not wanting to worry his only remaining Guardian. For once, Auron missed the impatient voice of Jecht insisting they move faster, running up ahead to demonstrate this and throwing one of those blasted blitzballs directly at his fellow Guardian for the hell of it. 

Strange to admit, but Auron realized he truly did miss Jecht. Sometimes Braska would mention his name, speaking to himself or perhaps to the fayth now merged with him, inside of him. Or, like now, he would mumble that name in his restless sleep. Auron reached out, settling a hand on Braska's shoulder till calm returned to the Summoner's features, stilling his nightmares for sleep. 

Fingers curled around the Summoner's arm, no matter how Auron wanted to let him sleep. Waking him was the furthest thing in his mind, for today would be the last day of Braska's life. His last chance to sleep, to dream, to breathe, to live. The last dance. Bowing his head, he engaged in a ritual he'd long ago abandoned. With the sun now warm against his back, tempered by the cool morning breeze, he bowed his head over the slumbering form of the man he guarded with his life and he prayed. 

He prayed to Yevon. Then he prayed Yevon was listening.  



	2. Don't Fall Away

(As usual, all characters and settings from FFX belong to Squaresoft and I will put the toys away after I'm done playing with them, ma.)

**Don't Fall Away**

One by one, the lights faded. One by one the streets curled inward. One by one the buildings grew smaller and smaller still. And one by one, the fayth finally ceased their endless dream. Zanarkand, the illusionary city that never slept, was no more.  
  
He could feel each change in succession, the tingle in his legs, the numbness to his fingers, the way his breath suddenly stopped passing through his trachea. He was never alive to begin with, no more than a figment of another's imagination, someone who lived a thousand years ago and had no business existing in this time, in this place. He had no right to love Yuna.  
  
Not that it mattered. He loved her with every last beat of his fading heart and held her as long as his arms could do so, till he felt his body finally become as fluid as the seas. It hurt to look back on them all, to see them waving, their faces pained and desperate but yet resigned. This wasn't a proper good-bye. Would they remember him? Or would his existance fade away entirely, as if he'd simply never been?  
  
No, he realized. Not as he gazed at Yuna. Not a tear stained her cheeks, she was too strong. Jecht would have loved having her as a daughter in law...  
  
He turned away from them all, turned even as the picture of their farewell burned brightly in his mind. And he ran, ran with the breeze, ran to the edge of the ship, to the edge of the world and he leapt!  
  
His story was at an end.  
  
_You were wrong, Yuna. It wasn't your story then. It was always mine. But now... Now it's your story. For you, it begins right now._  



	3. Raining Blood

(Standard Disclaimer: Final Fantasy characters and settings belong to Squaresoft.) 

**Raining Blood**  


_from a lacerated sky_  
_bleeding its horror_  
_creating my structure_  
_now I shall_  
_reign in blood_  
_'Raining Blood' -- Slayer_  


Spira would celebrate. The light that arched across the world signified the defeat of Sin. The Calm would now encompass the world, leaving her people free to rebuild their villages, bear their children, spend their days in peace. There would be no fear of Sin, no fear of the ultimate death that Yevon's teachings preached would return eventually. How easily they would forget, only to be reminded harshly when in time their transgressions would return to haunt them. That's what Yevon taught, after all. Their imperfections could not be forgotten. They had to be reminded and punished until that day they could finally atone. 

Jecht could feel the lifeforce within him. Diminishing, waning, dying. Braska had called forth the last Aeon, the Final Summoning. He should care, he realized. Somewhere, distantly, the wrongness of the entire act began to emerge like the dawning of the sun over the horizon. And, like the dawn, it was not immediate. A trickle, then a torrent. If he could have reached for Braska's hand, he would have, but as a fayth, he found his form no longer corporeal. He could only grasp at air, fingers slicing through the reality of his Summoner's hand. There was no smile gracing Braska's lips, no peace as his death came for him. Only the bold realization of the futility of this act. He wanted to bring peace to Spira, not to placate the perpetual for a decade. 

Auron accomplished what Jecht could not. Holding the body of the Summoner he had guarded all this time, his face bore a mask of rage and anger, carefully controlled and concealed for the moment. The waters of his psyche remained stilled at the surface, but churned relentlessly beneath the façade. 

"Can you see him?" Braska asked of his only remaining guardian. 

"No, Lord Braska, I see only you," Auron replied grimly. "But I am sure he is with you, my Lord." 

Braska coughed, a trickle of crimson blood coursing down one cheek. "I should... I should have listened to you, Auron." 

_You ain't the only one, Braska. _ Jecht sent through the link they shared, fayth and Summoner. 

"No, Braska you... you have brought peace to Spira again. The people--" 

Braska cut Auron off with a faint shake of his head. At last a smile, however sad and rueful, curled his lips upward as a hand reached to touch Auron's cheek in a last gesture of comfort. Jecht couldn't watch, closing his ethereal eyes to close away the scene. He could hear Auron's choked sob and Braska's words. 

"Sin will be reborn... I have seen this. We... could.. not..." he trailed off. 

Jecht felt the severance of life, and with it an end to the pact they shared. The hollow did not remain empty, however. Yu Yevon was there to fill it, bringing in his taint of madness and corruption. Of a thousand years alive, feeding off the fear and terror he wrought upon the world with his hardened body of Sin. And now it took Jecht into that madness, sucked into the vacuum to settle to the depths of the ocean. He screamed, he writhed, he felt himself falling even as he fought it with every once of his willpower. But Yu Yevon would not be denied. 

In the Calm Lands, surrounded by the scorched earth that marked the last battle with Sin, Auron held the body of his Summoner, even as it began to dissipate into a thousand pyreflies, to ascend to the beyond, the farplanes. Braska accepted his death long ago, and would not need to be Sent. He Sent himself, instead. Jecht's scream brought him out of his misery, the cry that tore through his mind and threatened to rupture his eardrums. The sound of a man betrayed. 

_Oh god, help me Auron... I don't... I can't..._

And then Auron knew he was truly alone. Braska dead, Jecht enslaved by the mysterious force that bound the fayth to their Aeons and would now remake him into the next Sin. This was not what they bargained for. They were deceived, used, and now discarded. Spira would celebrate in their ignorance and as the Calm ended, send out yet another Summoner to sacrifice everything to bring about another Calm. 

Falling to his knees with the realization, Auron thrust his sword into the ground and wept. The sky over the horizon had begun to bleed, turning lurid red, raining crimson down over the remains of the Calm Lands. He failed them both, a thousand accusations spearing his conscience, and now he had lost them both. If not for the promises he made, he might have ended his life there. But there was Jecht's son to think about, the kid he thought so fondly of despite his gruff mannerisms. Braska's daughter, the little girl he recalled meeting briefly before undergoing the pilgramige. 

Too many things to do for him to be dying, yet. But he knew what his first mission would be. With a resolute grip on the hilt of his sword, he pulled himself back to his feet and jerked the sword free from the ground. He would have answers, first. He would know why Braska and Jecht had to die in order to save Spira, what this pointless mission accomplished in the end. He would find a way to end the cycle, the circle of death and anguish. 

Or, he would die trying.  



	4. We Called It Sin

**We Called it Sin.**

Fragrant, the air streamed past the mysterious figure standing away from the residents of Zanarkand, carrying on it the salty tang of the ocean that surrounded the city that never slept. He stood high above the winding city streets, atop a scaffolding overlooking the majority of the city. The lights glared off the distant blitzball stadium, where the crowd roared and the sound of music carried to the highest reaches. He could even make out the sound of the announcer's voice riling up the crowd, getting them ready for the big tournament game to be played that evening. The Zanarkand Abes. Tidus' team. The man smiled wryly, reaching down to flick the clasps off his sake jug. Tonight would be the boy's last game in Zanarkand, might as well have a drink to that.

In the distance, the seagulls paused in their circling, crying out with shrill sounds their distress as something began to rise from the depths of the water, reeking of death and violence. The waves rose high, water rippling off the hulking form of armored flesh of a beast who defied description, defied all logic and defied the force of the ocean's tides, streaming forward. The massive body brought with it a tsunami, a wall of wave so high it rivaled the highest building in Zanarkand.

Yet, no one seemed to see it coming. A few who happened to be outside the stadium noticed it, running for their lives even if it were futile to do so. But most were inside the stadium, cheering on the teams within. Oblivious to the death knell tolling for them all just outside of the city's structured grid.

The stranger on the scaffolding raised his jug a second time, to the approaching doom. "Time, is it?"

_Been ten years, Auron. I can't hold back no more. Ain't got the willpower._

"I understand," Auron replied. The Calm was at an end in Spira, as it was before and as it would be again in time. "Do you think he can break it?"

_Forgive me, bud, but I don't rightly care anymore. Just make sure he ain't gonna cry cause he's gotta kill me._

Auron sighed, taking a long sip from the sake jug and leapt to the ground, then, landing with an impossible grace, a fluidity that left a few onlookers stunned and pointing. Ten years was a long time and now, at last, there was a second chance. His story ended a decade ago.

Now, if only he could rewrite someone else's this time.


	5. The Spiral

(Disclaimer: FFX characters and settings are owned by Squaresoft.)

The Spiral

"They are coming, my Lady."

The figure rose from her throne, long tendrils of silver hair flowing around her lithe form with a serpentine grace. Stretching like a cat recently woken from a nap, the few bangles against her wrists chimed softly in the stillness. Zanarkand, a city a thousand years dead, always possessed an atmosphere of suspended tranquility. A cemetery in twilight at the edge of the world.

"How many?"

"Three, my Lady."

She stepped to the precipice of the temple, lively eyes dancing across the surfaces below to watch the trio who approached. Three men, one summoner, two Guardians. Those who would bring peace to Spira, and give the people hope.

And give her beloved father a new structure. As it was before and as it would come to be again.

"The hour of reprisal is near. Go to them."

"Yes, my Lady."

Ghostly footfalls made no sound as the servant departed. She could hear the echoes of words from the hall. Angry, and then uncertain and finally understanding. The same as she heard from countless other Summoners who arrived at the gates to her Temple.

Did she ever question her role? Lady Yocun asked that, once upon a time. But it never bothered Yunalesca. Zaon would understand. He would agree with her. He would have told her what must be done.

But Zaon was long ago taken from her. A thousand years to suffer with his absense. A thousand years of pain and death. She sighed, fingers curling.

And then she turned, motions fluid and graceful, the second she heard the rustle of robes. She turned and she smiled. As it was before.

And as it would be forevermore.

(Fin.) 


	6. He Doesn't See Me

Disclaimer: All characters and terms property of Squaresoft.

**He Doesn't See Me**

Strange to enter the delicate webbing, a fabric of another reality beyond the reality Lulu had grown accustomed to. She wondered what it was like, to be in this place. Did one simply hover, cradled in memories? Part of her held hope for it, while the far more practical side of herself ground her musings to a halt. The Farplanes were like a graveyard, souls housed here after being Sent. It was a sacred place, and not something she should be so irreverent over. Someday, she too would come to rest here. Just as _he_ was.  
  
The others had run up ahead of her, but Lulu wasn't so eager or quick to seek the edge of the precipice. Yuna had already wandered over, eyes closed and hands held in a prayer to Yevon. With her thoughts came the forms of her parents, High Summoner Braska and the wife he lost to Sin. Together, forever. Lulu smiled faintly despite herself.   
  
But the expression died as she glanced toward Wakka. Standing as Yuna had, his arms then fell to his sides as the ethereal form of his brother slowly materialized. Of course he had to know. All this time he had prayed, and hoped, and dreamed that Chappu was still alive, somewhere. Even if he were hanging around Al Bhed and using their forbidden Machina. It was a glimmer of hope that Lulu refused to nurture time and again, and yet the blitzball captain never let go of it. But, now he would. Chappu would never have appeared, were he still out there somewhere.  
  
Lulu knew he was dead long ago. He would never have stayed away from her for so long were he alive. Yet, even with that knowledge in her head, her heart fell to see him floating there at the edge. She couldn't hear what Wakka said to him, just the faint sound of the blitzball captain's voice. His shoulders slumped, a hand reached back to rub at the base of his skull and he even scuffed his foot along the gritty stone at his feet. His disappointment was as readily evident on him as every other emotion. Wakka simply couldn't hide his feelings from anyone, he wore them openly on his sleeve.  
  
She left them alone, there, for Wakka to speak to the wraithlike form that could no longer hold a conversation. It was useless to waste her emotions on it, and yet even then she couldn't help but indulge herself, just a little. The arm clutching the Mog in her arms lifted slightly to brush at the side of her eye, to halt that one little tear before it could fall and be noticed. He couldn't see her standing there, couldn't hold her or kiss her ever again.  
  
But that was ok, she realized with fleeting melancholy. She could see him, one last time.


End file.
